


Six First Times

by marcelo



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: M/M, Of course it's fucked up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-10-12 21:46:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17475548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marcelo/pseuds/marcelo
Summary: Clark/Tim. Kal-el/Robin. Superman/Robin. Et cetera.





	Six First Times

**Author's Note:**

> Remember when Kon was dead and Tim decided that the emotionally healthy way to cope with his grief was to clone him? You know, like a Bat.
> 
> A birthday gift to thete1@livejournal.com.

"You need to stop this, Tim." His mere presence seemed to diminish the supposedly cloaked lab, every living, functional Kryptonian organ a mockery of Robin's attempts. It wasn't the first time he had wished for a kryptonite batarang.

Superman let his arms fall to the sides and opened them in a curiously Kon-like gesture, as if deliberately wanting to unsettle Robin.

"We all miss him, but you have to let him go."

Robin narrowed his eyes, his hand still close (but not close enough, should it come to that) to the lab's internal security console. It was tempting to point out the many factual mistakes in that phrase -perhaps with the help of lasers carefully tuned to imitate the light of a red sun.

Tempting, but ultimately useless. Robin raised his hand instead and took off his mask, knowing that Superman would misinterpretate the meaning of the gesture.

"I know," he said, willing himself to relax the internal discipline that had been keeping him from collapsing out of exhaustion and accumulated grief. More tired that he had thought, he actually woobled somewhat.

"Easy," said Superman steading him with a hug. "It will be okay."

 

It won't. Crying wasn't very hard, considering, and when Superman held him more closely, kissing him seemed like the obvious thing to do.

His hypothesis was validated when Superman returned the kiss, infinitely careful and overwhelmingly strong.

It wasn't very difficult at all to lose his uniform and convince Superman, with short desperate licks, lips and tongue against the alien fabric, to lose his, too.

"Tim?," he asked before entering him. Robin nodded.

Afterward, Superman cuddled what was probably the minimum he was organically capable of, and only left the lab after Robin promised to talk with Dick. "Dick is in worse shape that I am," he didn't tell him.

 

Instead, he waited as much as he dared, and sealed the "genetic samples" from Superman. Maybe this time it would work. 

***

"Who are you?" The voice of Zoanne's mother had shifted relatively quickly from distrust to tentative welcoming. Tim considered leaving the table where Zoanne had been doing a tolerable job of teaching him the maths he was pretending not to know and diving through a nearby window. This was Gotham, and the only people Tim knew were capable of generating this kind of goodwill so quickly were Dick and ---

 

"My name is Clark, I'm a friend of Tim." The voice was cheerful and honest. Knowing that this wasn't fake only made it more annoying. "I understand your daughter is tutoring him?"

 

"Come on in, please. He is such a wonderful boy, isn't he?"

Tim had to move fast. He gathered his things as quickly as he could and joined them at the door before Clark could make himself comfortable and strike up a chat with the family.

 

"Clark is here to walk me to an appointment. I didn't want to make trouble, but the doctor said that I should bring an adult." There. Zoanne's mother visibly fought the urge to ruffle his hair, and Zoanne herself, who was very concentious about study times, didn't think about doubting the story. How could she, with such an obviously straightforward and decent man in their doorstep?

 

Tim took Clark by the hand and walked them out before he could be tempted to do something that would require him to find another tutor. Clark let himself be led to a nearby alley, his easy, warm smile absolutely infuriating.

The alley wasn't a bad place, although Tim wished it were night already. "What do you ---". Clark interrupted him with a kiss. He kissed differently when he was Clark, a part of his mind filed away, while the rest of it dealt with the allocation of hands to touchable parts.

 

Clark was, obviously by choice, the first to break the kiss. "I thought you needed further cheering up." 

Tim rose an eyebrow. "'Cheering up'. That's what they call it in Kansas?"

Seeing the man's blush, Tim wondered if it was an act. Did he had that kind of body control? "Actually, Tim... I was thinking about icecream and a movie at my apartment. I rented "39 Steps," Dick told me once that you like it." 

He was still grounded from patrol. The new batch of cloning attempts was already on its automated stage. It was important to make Clark believe that he was 'cheered up'.

He liked '39 Steps'... and the hand that was now pressing against his lower back.

"It's a date," he said. Superman took them to Metropolis in a rush, and then he left them alone. Tim could barely wait until the red and blue suit could no longer be seen before chewing at Clark's lips.

 

***

 

He was stroking Tim's hair idly, both of them pretending to watch the luminous nocturnal skyline of Metropolis. Clark's apartment had as many windows as it was logical for it to have.

 

"There is a Kryptonian custom," said the man, "about the dead."

"Yes?" It was an odd voice, and an odd choice of tense, considering the fate of Krypton. Was Clark thinking about Kandor, or did he consider himself part of Kryptonian culture?

As effortlessly as he obviously could -but using a strength he hadn't during the night's previous lovemaking- Clark sat Tim over his lap.

"It's about resurrection." Tim held his shudder back, knowing that he had sensed it anyway.

 

"I thought Krypton was a scientific society."

Clark (but moving nothing like Clark did) nodded. "Kryptonians are well-versed in biotechnology." In a strange way, the hand he was trailing between Tim's nipples didn't seem to detract from the seriousness of his tone. "There were old ceremonies of return." 

"You don't say." He could feel Clark getting hard yet again. This time, though, there was an almost... an almost _ritual_ quality to it.

Clark kissed Tim almost to the point where oxygen deprivation became a concern, and then a bit more. "Yes."

***

"Sleep". Usually, he wouldn't have followed Superman's suggestion as a matter of course. But the last night had been physically hard on him, and the JLA emergency signal that had interrupted them was one he wouldn't be much help with anyway.

He let himself sleep until Superman woke him up, carrying a tray with two cups of espresso and bran toast. "Breakfast?"

The ludicrousness of eating breakfast with Superman in Clark Kent's apartment was a minor detail next to the question of why Superman hadn't changed out of his suit.

"So," asked Tim, deliberately not wincing at how much like a married sitcom couple they looked right now, spandex aside, "how was your morning?"

Superman sipped from his cup, scanning idly a _Daily Planet_ he had brought in with the breakfast. "A bit surprising. The attack on the orbital station was actually some sort of alien spore."

"Really?" It was an inane question, but given the context and his growing unease, it was perhaps appropriate.

Supperman nodded. "Affects the libidinal systems. It was pretty uncomfortable breaking into the station and having to interrupt everybody during coitus."

Tim thought about inching away from the him, but considering who he would be inching away from, it seemed futile. "Any effects on Kryptonian physiology?"

Superman folded his paper with care and beamed at Tim. "Now that you mention it..."

***

It was almost nighttime. The alien spore -he wasn't going to call it sex pollen, he wasn't- had finally relented its control of Clark's libido, and the man was now both properly dressed and properly chastised. It was just as well. He had been bashful enough that having Clark bring him a Robin suit hadn't taken much cajoling, and now he was ready to go out and patrol. It wasn't Gotham (nothing was, ever), but it was something. And it would give him the excuse to head back to his lab, even if by now the necessity of an excuse was at best formal. 

Ritual.

Clark, who for some reason had felt the need to wear his glasses, seemed at a loss about what to say. "I... I'm really sorry, Robin. I should have controlled myself better."

"Dangers of the trade. Forget it."

Clark passed a hand through his hair. "But the things I did..." He seemed to be freaking out despite the numerous times they had had sex before the pollen-induced evening.

Robin sighed and started taking out his armor. It was very clear in Bruce's protocols: keeping Clark sane overruled regular patrols.

 

***

White walls. Water everywhere. A disorienting absence of pain. Where the hell was that fake-ass "Superboy"?

An strong hand steadied him. "Rest easy, Kon-El. You already won that battle." Kon looked at the man. It was Clark, but dressed in strange clothes and smiling weirdly at him. Now that he looked at the place, he was in Clark's Fortress. How had he gotten there?

Nothing in this was reassurring, and he backed away until he felt somebody behind him.

"Thanks, Kal-El," said a voice. Clark smiled, and Kon turned away both to greet the owner of the voice and to avoid that smile.

"Hi," said Robin. Kon's relieved hug brought both of them to the ground.

"Dude! You are alive! And I'm alive, too. How come I'm alive? And," Kon paused, trying to frame the question in his mind before asking it, as Robin always asked him to do. "Why are you naked?"


End file.
